Another sunny morning,
Kaito blinked himself awake to the sound of something crashing in the kitchen. For a second, he wondered if it was an earthquake. Then came a familiar voice, half-muffled.
"Oops. That plate wasn't important, right?"
He sat up slowly, hair a mess, eyes barely open. It was only 8:42 AM. Too early for his heart to already be bracing for damage.
Pulling himself off the bed, he walked to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. "Chiaka… what are you doing?"
She turned around with a wide grin, holding a spatula like a trophy. "Making pancakes! Surprise breakfast!"
There were already three bowls on the counter, two open milk cartons for some reason, and flour everywhere. The "surprise" part was clearly accurate.
"You woke up before me?" he asked, suspicious.
"Well... I technically never slept," she said casually, flipping a pancake with one hand while sipping a cold drink with the other. "I started watching this mystery drama, and then it was 5 AM, and I figured—hey, why not make breakfast like a responsible housemate?"
Kaito stared at her.
She smiled wider. "Aren't you impressed?"
"You dropped a plate."
"But the pancake survived," she declared proudly, showing him something vaguely edible and slightly burnt on one side.
He sighed, still half-asleep, and sat down at the table. She placed the plate in front of him with a little flourish, then leaned on the counter dramatically. "Cooking is hard work. I deserve applause. Or maybe… juice."
"You already drank two juice boxes," he muttered, poking the pancake with his fork.
"Fine, I'll steal one of your puddings later."
"You mean again?"
She gave him a wink.
He didn't say anything, just quietly chewed the pancake. It wasn't the worst thing he'd eaten, which, considering it came from Chiaka, was already a small miracle.
As she sat down across from him with her own plate, Kaito found himself noticing how her hair was messily tied up, a loose strand falling near her cheek. She looked different—more casual, more like the real her. He quickly looked away before his brain could start forming weird thoughts again.
"So," she said between bites, "we should go out later. Arcade? Park? Ice cream run?"
"I have assignments."
"You're so boring," she whined. "At least pretend to be fun."
"I'll pretend if you start cleaning the living room."
"Now you're being unrealistic."
He snorted, and she beamed. Moments like these—light, annoying, comfortable—were becoming normal. Strangely normal.
After breakfast, Kaito headed to the bathroom with a towel slung over his shoulder. Just as he was about to step in, Chiaka's voice echoed faintly from her room, "Oh, by the way, don't forget to put your towels in the laundry after!"
"…Huh?"
But she didn't respond. He shrugged, undressed, and got into the shower, expecting a short, peaceful start to his day.
Ten minutes later, he opened the curtain, dripping wet and ready to grab his towel—
Gone.
He blinked. Looked around. Checked the floor, the hook, the backup rack.
No towel.
He stood there, shivering slightly in the AC draft that crept under the door.
"…Chiaka?" he called.
Silence.
"Chiakaaa?"
Still no answer.
He opened the door just a crack and peeked into the hallway. Nothing.
After debating his life choices for a full minute, he wrapped the only thing available—a small bath mat—around his waist and tiptoed out like a soggy ninja.
Chiaka was lounging on the sofa, holding her phone, wearing one of his T-shirts that practically looked like a dress on her. She glanced up, took one look at him, and immediately choked on her juice.
"Oh my god—what are you wearing?!"
Kaito deadpanned. "You took all the towels."
Chiaka was laughing too hard to answer immediately. "Y-You look like someone wrapped a floor rag on a broom!"
"It's a bath mat," he muttered.
"That doesn't make it better!"
He just stood there, arms crossed, expression tired. "Where. Are. The. Towels."
"Ohhh yeah!" she said, snapping her fingers. "I tossed all of them in the wash earlier. They were getting musty. But I forgot to start the machine…"
He stared at her.
She grinned, clearly unrepentant. "I was gonna start it right after my snack break, which accidentally turned into a nap break."
Kaito sighed and turned around to walk back to his room.
"Wait wait wait—don't be mad! You can use my hair dryer! Or I can fan you with a magazine!"
"Chiaka," he called without looking back, "you're banned from laundry decisions starting today."
She threw a pillow at him, missing completely.
Later that afternoon, once he had finally dried off and re-dressed, he found Chiaka scribbling something in her notebook at the dining table.
"Is that your homework?" he asked cautiously.
She turned the notebook around.
It was a doodle of him with a bath mat and steam clouds.
Under it, she'd written: "Kaito the Towel-less Hero."
"…You're unbelievable."
"I'm an artist."
"You're unemployed."
"I'm a student!" she gasped.
"With no intention of ever studying," he muttered, grabbing a juice box and sitting down next to her.
She smiled and leaned her cheek against her palm, watching him. "You're cute when you're grumpy."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Nothing." She sipped her drink.
It was quiet for a moment.
Then she added, "Next time, just yell louder. Maybe I'll rescue you with a towel and a dramatic slow-motion entrance."
"I'd rather jump out the window."
She laughed again, eyes squinting from smiling too hard, and Kaito found himself laughing with her, even though part of him was still damp and mildly traumatized.
But deep down, he didn't really mind.
Not the chaos, not the teasing, not even the towel disaster.
Living with Chiaka was a handful.
But it was never boring